The League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen
by Laiqualaurelote
Summary: A treasure hunter. A witch. A fairy. A mutant. A concubine. A vampire. An wuxia. Can the all-girl League of the new era follow the successful footsteps of their predecessors? Or will they fall before the overwhelming odds set to defeat them...
1. The Council in the Basement

**The League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen**

Author's Note: Ah. Hello everyone.

Laiqualaurelote has returned. A&A&A was all very well (it certainly kept my sister occupied during some boring meals) but sooner or later I would have returned to the world of Action/Adventure. And although in this case I am probably plunging somewhere with less reviews than either of my earlier fanfics, I think I shall have some fun anyway.

Disclaimers are such tiresome things, aren't they? Even so, I own neither the concept of the League, nor anyone in it, past or present. That satisfy you? Then on with my tale.

**The Council in the Basement**

Balance. The odd feeling of blood draining from her legs to her head, heavy and slightly nauseous. The world upside down, the colours blurred. Her hair hung downwards in its long ponytail, draping over the balance bar. Her eyes closed; everything in her focused on her quivering arms, lithe and strong, her white knuckles, her fingers tight on the metal bar, the perfect streamline of her body.

In times like this, she thought lazily even as her biceps strained, it was worth all the trouble taken to build these things. The perfection of it, of that single moment of pure equilibrium, upon the narrow balance bar in a flawlessly straight handstand. An impossible feat for most women, or people even – but a feat within her grasp.

She opened her eyes.

With the graceful ease of long practice she swung a full 360 degrees around the balance beam, body rod-stiff, and released her hold, spinning off into the air. She writhed once, twice, to make the most of the swing, and caught the next balance bar further down. Four more to go.

In a series of swift swings she went from bar to bar. Now the opening yawned before her, a tight metal maw with a bottomless drop that lay behind it. She whirled off the last bar like a Catherine wheel through the air, curled into a ball and rolled neatly through the small opening.

She fell.

The ground, when it came, sent painful jolts through her legs and up her spine. She landed in a crouch, like a stealthy cat, knees bent to absorb the shock. Recovering swiftly, she broke into a run as light from an unseen source on the lofty ceiling flooded the place suddenly, white and harsh.

There was a metallic screech and a hiss. A ball of movement shot out of the corner of her eye and came down at her, steel limbs scrabbling for her face, tipped with razor points, hissing in programmed ferocity. Calmly she reached for the twin revolvers that she knew would be on her belt, cocked and aimed in one swift moment and fired at the creature. Three sharp bursts, and the robot spider crumpled at her feet, its wires sparking where the bullets had sliced through them.

She did not stay to look, but picked up speed. There were more of the things already, scuttling along the walls of the corridor, metal legs clacking, some of them throwing themselves at her. Without stopping she aimed each revolver in opposite directions and hit two spiders simultaneously. Still running, she swung around and her bullets knocked four more off the ceiling.

As she turned back there was a thud on her chest, and next she was staring down at a spider clawing at the material of her suit. With a powerful hand she slapped it off, and the thing flew off and smashed into pieces on the corridor wall. Looking up, she beheld the opening at the end of the corridor closing. Thundering down the last few metres of corridor, she sprang through as it shut behind her.

She plunged into deep water. Black engulfed her and snatched away her sense of direction. All she remembered was that the door to the next level was somewhere down, somewhere down there, and she needed to keep swimming down through the darkness...

Somewhere above, something began to ring loudly.

She swam up to the surface and spat water out of her mouth. It ran in rivulets down her neck. Beside her, the ponytail floated, wholly saturated.

"Damn," she said aloud.

With fast, strong strokes she swam to where a ladder descended into the water and began to climb it, careful not to slip on the wet rungs. At the top there was a trapdoor. She pushed it open, and emerged into the manor.

Water dripped down and formed puddles that were out of place on the rich carpet. She strode up the marble steps, leaving wet footprints, and made an irritable gesture to her butler. "No. I'll deal with whoever it is myself." Since they interrupted me in the obstacle course, she thought petulantly as she flung open the tall double doors, allowing sunlight to stream through and pool on the carpet.

The intruder, as she thought of him, was a slight, nervous-looking man who kept fiddling with his jacket. "Lara Croft?"

"Lara Croft," she affirmed, keeping the warmth from her voice.

"I have a message for you," began the man, but Lara cut him off in an angry tone. "You interrupted my game for a _message_?"

"An important message," argued the man. "It involves saving the world."

Lara rolled her eyes. "That is so cliché. If you want my attention you will have to do better than that." She turned to head back into the manor.

"I'm being serious!" he exclaimed, scuttling after her. "It's a summons from London. You've been requested to lead a team of elite agents on a top secret mission. You can't refuse!"

"Oh, why not?"

"Well, the British Government has requested you do it, for one. So has the Queen."

She halted. "Go on," she said, her back still to him.

"I can't," he replied. "To find out the rest, you have to go to London yourself. Do you want to see the seal?"

Lara reached out and took the letter. The seal confirmed it. She looked up at the messenger, who was wringing his hands in apprehension.

"Going to London is no big deal for me; it's not too far. So I might as well check this out."

One could tell how relieved the messenger was. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck. "Oh, very good. Try to make it fast."

"Fast," drawled Lara, "is no problem. Wait till you see the new jet I bought last week."

* * *

Fat raindrops fell and splatted sluggishly on the cobblestones through the heavy London night. Rolling plumply across the gently sloping ground, they collected in murky puddles on the pavement.

A black leather boot, with a high pointed heel, sliced through the puddle, making the water part like Moses at the Red Sea. Another boot clacked sharply onto the pavement. Both passed through a pair of imposing stone columns and entered a fairly large museum room. The heels echoed distinctly on the polished tiled floor between the antique exhibits.

The figure in the all-encompassing fur cloak glanced up and surveyed the empty museum with something like disappointment. "_This_ is it? I came here for something like _this_?"

"It's not what you think."

"Oh, really?"

"No, no, it's more than it looks, honestly. Why don't you go on?"

The figure threw the furry hood back. In the sputtering light of the gas lamps, Lara Croft glared at the messenger. "Very well. But any funny business – " her fingers tightened around the .45s under the cloak, "– and you'll regret it, believe me. Lead the way."

"Yes'm," said the messenger meekly.

They crossed the room and came to a wooden door, which the messenger opened with a key. The door swung open, the message on it barely legible in the dim light.

"NO ADMITTANCE TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC"

"Top secret, eh?" muttered Lara as she passed through.

"This way," said the messenger, clattering down the dusty staircase. Lara followed him cautiously.

The staircases seemed to go on for eternity. Lara had lost count of the number of flights already, and she could hear the messenger panting before her. She herself found the descent not at all tiring, but her patience was fraying. "I don't suppose you people have heard of the elevator, have you? Or even the escalator?"

The messenger said nothing, wisely saving his breath.

Eventually the staircases wound to a halt before yet another wooden door. The messenger opened it, motioning Lara to enter. "Your briefing will take place inside, Lady Croft."

Lara peered at the darkness beyond the door suspiciously. "You're not going in?"

The messenger shook his head and waited, fidgeting. Lara made up her mind. Fingers closing around her revolvers, she stepped in. The door closed behind her.

Immediately the darkness pounced on her like a roaring flood, swallowing her entirely, creeping over her face, smothering like velvet. Her senses were immediately alert; she tensed, trying to catch a movement in the dark.

Then a light flicked on.

In the bright glare of the lamp, an old man with wrinkled brown skin like a walnut scrutinised her. There was suddenly a spotlight on her, boring into her, catching her tense and frozen. It felt uncomfortably as if she was on stage.

The wizened old man seated in a large armchair at the end of a long polished table raised his chin slightly, his dark eyes never leaving her face. He was dressed in a strange woollen suit, which was violently and distastefully purple-orange-striped. He had large sunglasses propped on his forehead over his bright green eyes, and white hair in an outlandish Indian ponytail. All in all, he was the last thing she would have expected to see in a situation like this.

"Lara Croft." It was not a question of any sort. Just two words, which hung in the air between them.

"Who are you?" she snapped at him.

Those aged eyes did not blink at her gaze. "Chiron Brown. They done called me 'Ringfinger', back when I pitched for the Homestead Grays. Ringfinger Brown."

That did not answer the question, but Lara was tempted to digress. "And why's that? Something special about your ring finger?"

"Nah." The old man raised his leathery brown right hand. "I ain't got one, that's why."

Lara raised her eyebrows.

"Anyway," he went on, "me, I'm a scout. A talent scout. That's why the League hired me, to scout talent."

"League?"

Ringfinger Brown lifted a large black file and spun it down the length of the table towards her. She caught it, noting that on the cover, embossed in gold, was: "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen".

"The League," explained Ringfinger Brown, "was started in the 1800s, by a group of six men and one woman with, let's just say, extraordinary abilities. Though they done got exploited by the very man who brought 'em into the League, they still stuck together. And ever since, it's been tradition whenever the world needs saving, to call on the League."

Lara fingered the photographs in the books. The League in the 1800s. Led by Allan Quatermain. "But that's a long time ago. The League are probably dead and gone. Who're they calling on now?"

Ringfinger Brown sighed. "That's why I'm here. Me job's to bring together a new League, from the new era. Ever since the first League, I been collecting League members from Fiction, whenever the fictional world needs them. And ever since they invented Movies...well, there been a lot of heroes to choose from."

The light was beginning to dawn on Lara. She sat down at the end of the table, the file before her. "You chose me."

The old scout nodded. "I did. To lead the new League."

"But...this is the League of Extraordinary _Gentlemen_. And I'm a...a..."

"A woman?" Ringfinger Brown laughed. It was a dry, wheezing cackle. "To begin with, there been nothing wrong wi' having women in the League. Look in your that there folder. One of the founding members were Mina Harker herself. And ever since there's been a sprinklin' of women in the League across the eras. Éowyn of Rohan, for one, at the turn of the century. Princess Leia not a many years back. But now it's different."

"Back then, I never focused on women partick'ly. But now," here he sighed and shook his head, "somehow, I can't seem to find the men. All not 'vailable. Neo Anderson occupied with dealing wi' some machines or whatnot. Jack Aubrey busy sailing 'round the world or summat. Anyway, now you women are gettin' better an' better. Look at yerself."

"Okay," said Lara. "Enough about the League. What about the mission?"

"Further on in that folder, you'll see. It's quite simple, really." He paused to adjust the sunglasses. "Robot attacks."

Lara flipped further on. Framed in the pages were several newspaper clippings. "ROBOT SQUADS SPOTTED IN CALIFORNIA" "ARMED MACHINES ATTACK BRISBANE WAREHOUSES" "TWO KILLED IN MYSTERY ROBOT ASSAULT" Lara flipped through the information, frowning.

"You see," continued Ringfinger Brown, "it's getting serious. Suddenly robots pop up everywhere – we're a-suspecting something."

"So?"

"So, we want you to get to the root o' the matter. Find out what's going on wi' all the robots. Put a stop to anythin' fishy."

Lara nodded. "You said I'd be leading a team? Who's in it?"

Ringfinger Brown glanced at a large gold watch, which was shaped like a large blob. "Actually, you can find that out for yerself. They should be here somewhere around now. Ah."

The last was voiced at the sound of the door clanging. Lara spun round to see a tall, elderly-looking woman in billowing green robes stride through the door and towards them. With her long nose and her thin, primly shut mouth, she did not look like she smiled often. Her hair was in a severe bun at the back of her head. The overall effect was rather austere.

"Professor McGonagall," greeted Ringfinger Brown cordially. "I just done briefing Lara here. Lara Croft, this is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School and a powerful witch in her own right."

"Pleased to meet you," said Lara politely.

Professor McGonagall merely nodded stiffly. Not a forthcoming lady, she.

"Why, are we all here already? And I thought I was early!"

Their heads turned towards the source of the silvery voice that floated in. A woman appeared in the shadows, walking towards them with a graceful sway. She was strikingly lovely; her dark eyes, rimmed heavily with black kohl and flecked with gold, gleamed embossed in her coffee-coloured tanned skin. She wore – Lara saw McGonagall's eyes narrow in displeasure – very little, more jewellery than clothes. Speaking of jewellery, she wore a gold circlet tipped with the Egyptian uraeus – she was probably royalty – atop her black head, from which her black locks fell smooth and straight and shining, draping over her bare shoulders.

The newcomer paused by a chair, but did not sit; instead she stood by it, eyes demurely lowered, nimble fingers drumming the upholstery coyly. She looked even younger than Lara, but there was an air was something deeply old, ancient even, about her.

"Lara Croft and Minerva McGonagall, so I hear." Her voice was huskily sultry, and despite the demure tone, everything else about her radiated brazen force. "A pleasure, utterly so." The dusky eyes flicked here and there behind the veil of hair, coolly taking in all three of them. "Why so silent? I thought you Englishwomen were brought up with manners?"

"Indeed," replied McGonagall icily. "Not a wonder then, that you aren't English."

The other laughed her silvery laugh. "Oh, thank Re, _nai_. I am of the Land of Khem, that which you call Egypt. Anck-su-namun, once concubine of Seti, greets you." She inclined her gracious head, in what seemed only too much a mocking gesture. Lara felt that McGonagall was barely resisting the temptation to roll her eyes at the girl's impudence. Well, there was certainly a lot in the field of teamwork that could do with improvement.

All three women pricked up their ears at a new sound – high heels clicking across the floor. A figure appeared, framed in the doorway, and stepped forward, heels striking the ground in their sharp rhythm. The woman was dressed in a skin-tight black suit, made of some polished material that caught the light as she walked forward. She was astonishingly pale, this fact made even clearer by the way her black hair was pulled starkly away from her moon-sallow face and tied behind her head. Her eyes belied her Asian origins – large, but with the slanted Oriental look.

"Ah," said Ringfinger Brown. "And here be the last member of our League due today. Yuriko Oyama."

Lara extended her hand. "Lara Croft. Welcome."

Yuriko Oyama took it wordlessly. Her black, eerily empty eyes bored into Lara's. Her grip was amazingly strong, like an iron vise, as if...as if her fingers were made of metal, thought Lara. Lara could feel her strangely long nails pricking her skin. She stifled a wince, forced a smile, and tried to withdraw her hand.

Which was nigh impossible.

Yuriko Oyama tightened her grip further. It took all of Lara's self control not to gasp in pain. The woman gazed coolly at her. "Lady Deathstrike." She released Lara's hand at last. Lara drew it back hurriedly, flexing it to check if the muscles were still working.

Yuriko Oyama – no, Deathstrike, thought Lara – turned to Ringfinger Brown, who was, after all, the only one seated. "What is this mission, may I ask? And when do we start?"

Ringfinger Brown grinned, showing several gold teeth. "Right now, milady. As to yer mission, you can ask yer that there team captain." Deathstrike glanced at Lara. "Now, you lot better get to crackin'. You still have three more team members to recruit – look in yer file, Lady Croft – and they ain't gonna be easy to ask. So it be off to Stonehenge you go."

Lara stared at the old man. "Stonehenge? Why are we going to Stonehenge?"

"You'll see. Read yer file, I said. And take these here equipment...yer all dealing wi' some holographic things. And if any of them yer dealing wi' wanna ask questions – " he tossed Lara a mobile phone "– put them on the line. Off ye go."

Anck-su-namun fingered the strange futuristic glasses on the table curiously. "Off we go, isn't it?" Her silvery tone was amused, with a tinge of mocking distaste. "And I thought we were all just getting along so nicely here."

**End of Chapter**

_Next chapter coming_...**An Invasion of Mud People**

In which the League tours Stonehenge, surprises some strange creatures and finds that their new member is rather under the expected height.


	2. An Invasion of Mud People

**The League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen**

Author's Note: Was it really that obvious? Ah well. At least I tried.

Well, 10 reviewers was definitely a lot better than I expected – thank you, you darling things.

**Digital Tempest: **I must profess, I do agree it's an interesting mix. Thanks for commenting that. In reply :)

**Zeggy: **My darling Laiqualasseo Indis, you _will_ review this. I repeat, you _WILL_ review this. Even if I have to personally visit your house with my arsenal of weapons – particularly the cookie cutter – and threaten all the Legolas posters you own. So you _WILL_ review. Tu comprends? Bien.

**Jojo: **Not to split hairs, dear, but actually in truth it was Lara who said it, not me. I don't think I can manage 'A Little Princess', though I do love the book too. I don't think Sara Crewe would survive what I plan to put the League through.

**Manveri Mirkiel:** So pleased you stopped by, squishenya. I suppose you needn't have been so muffled – it appears everyone else had little difficulty guessing. But you will lock lips about the last two, non? Because I'm sure they will all have _much_ difficulty guessing them. Yes, be glad I update fast. Not something you can say for yourselves, non, ma petite? (Yes, ma petite. I love doing that.)

**Sean Malloy-1: **Why thank you.

**Katatonia: **Aha-aha. _Touché_. You will see. Thanks for standing up for me on the matter of the – bloody lurkers. Yeah. Loadsa love, as you like to say it.

**Angel(s and Demons): **Yes, the feminism thing. Hee. _Mysteriously _interesting. I like that. Have you read me new letter in the Yahoo account? Just to let you know…

**Angel46: **Again, like Katatonia, _touché_. Thank you for the portrayal praise – I put lotsa work into the descriptions. Glad they're appreciated!

**Southerngirl4615: **I'm sure you can't wait. Hope you shall be appeased!

**Cerse Liminara: **A ball of movement is basically a moving ball. There are more complex levels to this, but I leave you to think through them.

Okay, so you all guessed it about the Artemis Fowl business. Ah, I give it up to you lot. But I am _quite_ sure you won't guess the next two so easily…hee. Just a note – I'll be away in New Zealand till Christmas, so I shan't update till then. Sorry. In the meantime, enjoy what I don't own.

**2. An Invasion of Mud People**

Captain Holly Short was in trouble. Serious trouble. The day had started simple enough – sent off on an assignment to bring in a couple rebel goblins hiding out in a warehouse. Things had gone steadily downhill from there. Firstly, the couple rebel goblins had turned out to be quite more than that – at least five of them. Then they had turned out to be a tinge smarter than the average goblin – one of them had figured out how to trigger the automated door mechanism, which had effectively shut her partner outside the warehouse. And last and worst, the lockdown.

Holly had no idea how this lockdown had come about. There were more pressing matters to consider at the moment than exactly how the humans in question had managed to interfere with the Lower Elements. Firstly, she was outnumbered five to one – and if it really was a lockdown, she wouldn't be allowed to fire her Neutrino 2000, the weapon that gave her her edge. (No unshielded surges of power during a lockdown, in event of a human probe picking it up.) And she had just realised the worst. During a lockdown, all electricity was shut off. And this warehouse just happened to run on oxygen providers – which had been conveniently shut off. Now all that was left was a roomful of oxygen – which soon wasn't even going to a roomful.

Now, she was alone, weaponless, and facing five opponents – which, though admittedly not the most intelligent, had the advantage of firepower. If her partner didn't get that door open in time…if the goblins didn't get her, the oxygen lack would.

The goblins were extremely happy over this. "We got you, elf!" hooted one. "We gonna deal with you, then we gonna burn our way outta this place. You hear that, elf?"

"No," muttered Holly through gritted teeth. She was attempting to keep up a façade of bravado, despite the circumstances. "Now, you will shut up before I shoot your eyeballs out of your slimy head."

She couldn't see the goblin, but most likely he had replied to that by waggling his tongue. Imbecilic, goblins. "You lie, elf. If you could shoot us you would have shot long ago."

At least he had that grasp of logic, thought Holly.

The goblins as one began to cackle. Holly wondered what they had got up to now, but then she saw. Very clearly.

The goblins had fanned out around her, and each of them had conjured up a huge fireball in his hand. The sight of the fireball brought back memories – of all places, from her science classes when she had been in fairy school. She remembered her teacher pushing a glowing splinter into a test tube full of oxygen, and the splinter lighting up into a full flame. As the science teacher had said, fire needed oxygen to burn. It consumed the oxygen around it, and then…and then…

…it went out when there wasn't any oxygen left.

"Put it out!" she screamed. "Put them all out!"

The goblins snickered. "No way, elf! We're gonna get you!"

Without warning, the fireballs were flying at her. Holly just managed to duck as one burst into glowing sparks overhead. A couple of wires behind her caught fire. The flames spread like liquid along the wires, setting virtually the whole ceiling ablaze. The heat was so intense she felt her skin charring beneath the jumpsuit. The goblins (who were unfortunately fireproof) cackled wildly and slung more flaming missiles at her. More of the warehouse caught fire. The fire at once began its work – burning everything in its way and devouring the oxygen.

It wasn't a very large warehouse. And it wasn't at all a small fire. Already Holly could feel the lack of air pressing down on her chest. Yet she was helpless, unable to put out the fire, unable to stop the goblins from conjuring more of it.

Then one of the goblins howled. He had tried conjuring yet another fireball, but was unable to. One by one the goblins realised that the fireballs were no longer forthcoming.

About her, the flames were also dying down. This was a bad sign. No more oxygen.

Too late she realised she had forgotten to seal her helmet when there was still oxygen – now there was nothing trapped in her helmet tanks. Holly felt a dull ache throbbing in her head. The world was growing fuzzy. No air. She needed air.

Holly cast about with her steadily clouding sight for something that had survived the fire that could help her. Stumbling about the glowing embers, she tripped over something. "D'Arvit!" she gasped, and immediately regretted even opening her mouth to swear – it would only use up more of the precious oxygen.

Then she looked down and saw what she had tripped over.

It was a pile of old vehicle tyres. Miraculously they had survived the fire. Holly dropped to her knees beside them, ignoring the incandescent ash that seared at the microfilaments in her jumpsuit. There was still some air in them. Holly ripped out the plug and fastened her mouth over the tube, sucking hungrily at the air in it. For over a minute she knew nothing, except the oxygen rushing into her lungs and being pumped into her veins, and how good breathing felt.

That was how the LEP backup team found her, curled on the ground drawing air from an old tyre. It took them a few minutes to batter down the warehouse door, burst through and surround the situation, putting out fires and incapacitating unconscious goblins. Holly looked up when she felt the air from outside flooding in, and saw LEP Commander Root entering, his face a colour to match the still flickering flames.

Holly scrambled to her feet. D'Arvit. How was she going to explain this to the commander? Especially since she doubted she had enough air in her to so much as launch into an explanation.

But for once it appeared that it wasn't her that Root was fuming at. "Come on, Short," he growled. "Get in the vehicle. There's someone asking for you back at headquarters."

"Who?" managed Holly as she was shepherded towards the LEP van parked outside.

Root made a sound in his throat. It was not a happy sound. "You'll see," he growled, and marched after her.

* * *

"Was it supposed to turn out like this?" enquired Anck-su-namun.

The four of them were standing back-to-back in the evacuated chute hangar, surrounded by two dozen LEP officers with two dozen platinum guns pointed at them. Everyone's arms were beginning to ache from being held up so long.

"At least they're setting up negotiations," replied Lara.

It seemed a very long time since that decision had been made. It seemed an even longer time since they had arrived at Stonehenge, poked around the place after bypassing the tourism safety measures, and with the aid of the holographic glasses, found the fairy fort. After which they had broken in, 'accidently' beaten up several chute attendants and hijacked a fairy shuttle going down the chute. Lara did not like recalling that particular part. She had had to stay in the cramped, obviously-built-for-smaller-people, cockpit with one of the .45s at the pilot's temple while her companions effectively terrorized the rest of the crew into silence. Lara's leg bones were now complaining from all that squeezing. Although the pilot had come off worse – he had fainted of trauma when the LEP had surrounded the shuttle and dragged him out.

Beside her, Deathstrike shifted impatiently. Anck-su-namun let out a small sigh. Lara had to agree, this long wait was insufferably frustrating. She would like nothing better than to take out this bunch of gun-toting midgets; but then, if she did, there would have been no negotiations. And negotiations were one thing they needed badly.

"Someone's coming," observed McGonagall in a low voice.

Lara turned to see the new arrivals. She could already hear the bellowed orders of "Move it! Make way for the Commander!" Seconds later, the ring of officers parted, and two elves strode through. The first was the stout red-faced commander she had exchanged shots with earlier. The second was small, even for these fairies, and clad in a camouflage jumpsuit that looked as if it had been through a volcano and back. As they approached, she could tell it was a female, with a shock of fiery auburn hair over a rather pretty face and a pair of quick hazel eyes that gleamed in the midst of the blackened features with a potently strong mix of determination and curiosity.

Lara moved so she was facing – or rather, looking down at – the latter. The gun barrels moved with her, but she ignored them, instead focusing on the elf only. She put on her most persuasive attitude – the one that she used to get what she wanted. And Lara Croft usually got what she wanted.

"Captain Holly Short. I have been _so _looking forward to meeting you."

* * *

Exhausted as she was, Holly could not prevent an overwhelming wave of curiosity from consuming her. Why would these Mud Women want to see her – her, of all the officers to choose from? She concentrated on what the leader of the women was saying. That would tell her what she wanted.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the Mud Woman was saying. "I am Lara Croft. These are my colleagues, Minerva McGonagall, Anck-su-namun, and Dea—Yuriko Oyama."

"What do you want with me?" asked Holly warily.

Lara Croft smiled. "We want to recruit you."

"For what?"

The tall woman took a step forward. One of the officers hurriedly jabbed his blaster into her leg. Without even looking down, Lara slapped him aside, causing the rest to jump violently, and knelt down so she was eye-level with Holly. "We are the League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen. We are, cliché as it might sound, on a mission to save the world. Possibly from robot takeover – we're not exactly sure. And someone of your calibre and expertise is very welcome in our team."

Here Root interrupted. "We don't make deals with the Mud People. What authority have you got to demand this, eh?"

"He's got questions," pointed out the woman behind Lara dryly, the elderly one with glasses perched on her long nose. "You should put him on the line."

Lara Croft considered, then decided to comply. She pulled a backpack off her shoulders, reached into it, and plucked out a mobile phone. She examined it for a while, pressed a couple of buttons, and handed it to Commander Root. "See for yourself. Or rather, _listen_."

Holly never found out what exactly the person on the other end of the line had told Root. Later she found out that Lara actually didn't know, either. However, one thing was for certain: the message had violently unsettling content, judging from the commander's reaction. His originally red-hued complexion worsened rapidly into something like volcanic pyroclastic material. Then a layer of ugly bruising purple was added, with a final sprinkling of smoking pitch. Not the most pleasant of colour combinations. Holly, and the other LEP officers around who knew Root's temperament, braced themselves for the oncoming disaster.

"Fine," Root finally spat into the receiver. "FINE!" He threw the phone back at Lara, who caught it neatly and replaced it in her pack. That did not seem to improve his mood. "D'Arvit. _D'Arvit_."

"So?" said Lara softly, with the air of someone who is trying very hard not to smirk.

Root gave her his best thunderous glare. "It is," he declared hotly, "entirely Captain Short's decision. If she does not wish to participate you cannot force her to."

"True," agreed Lara Croft.

Holly was suddenly aware all eyes were on her. This was a fairly uncomfortable development. She did not want to work with Mud People – but on the other hand, she really wanted a bit of fresh adventure. After the Artemis Fowl mindwipe, there had been nothing on her schedule except chasing after random goblins. And that was nothing like fun.

"Well…" she began.

Then Lara Croft played her trump card. She reached into her backpack again – and this time, she pulled out a folder. Swiftly she flipped through it, came to a certain page and handed it pages-up to Holly. Holly saw the photograph on the page, and her heart nearly stopped.

It was Artemis Fowl.

"The League has gathered reports that Fowl is involved in this business," explained Lara. "The information has led us to believe he is manufacturing these robots himself. We know you've tangled with him before; we know you know him better than any other fairy alive. That was why _your_ file turned up in the League database."

Holly did not reply. Instead she gazed as if hypnotized at the photograph. It showed Artemis Fowl sitting before a computer screen, the glow reflected on his pale features. There were hard lines on his otherwise still youthful countenance – determination, the drive of the extreme intellectual she had known tested to its limits – perhaps even hatred. But what she saw most was how tired he looked. He looked almost haggard, like a ghost bleached in the sun. There was strain in every vein of his being. How had he been driven to this? To crime again? The mindwipe? Had _they_ done it?

"Captain?" ventured Root tentatively. "Holly?"

Holly Short looked up. Her face was set, resolve etched into her visage. Her mind was made up – it had been made up from the moment she had laid eyes on that photograph. "I'm going."

Lara Croft smiled. "Excellent. We're very glad to welcome you." She turned to Root. "And we'd like to ask a favour from the LEP."

"What now?" growled Root, who was entirely unhappy with the proceedings.

"A shuttle. We will need a shuttle, with the good Captain Short to pilot it. And port clearance. It is crucial to the mission."

Root opened his mouth to argue, but shut it. Clearly the message on the phone was replaying in his mind very unpleasantly. "Very well," he managed through gritted teeth. "You'll have your shuttle. And that, I hope, will be all."

"Of course, Commander," replied Lara pleasantly.

Holly followed Lara through the crowd of armed officers, back into the huddle of League members. "What do I do now?"

"I think you should start getting ready," came the reply. "Preferably in full combat gear and armed. Oh yes. You had better get something warm. We're going to China."

"China?"

"Yes, China. This is a mission of strange destinations. First Stonehenge, now China. I wonder what'll be after that."

"The Moon, I believe," muttered Anck-su-namun sarcastically.

"We'd better hurry," pointed outMcGonagall. "We're already behind schedule."

Holly set about getting geared up. China? This was beginning to sound fun.

**End of Chapter**

_Next chapter coming…_**Trouble in the Teahouse**

In which it begins to snow, the League enters the world of the Jianghu, and our heroines get sadly involved in a teahouse brawl.


	3. Trouble in the Teahouse

**The League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen**

Author's Note: I've been neglecting LXGW. Awfully sorry about that. I'm back, now.

To do some self-sponsored advertisement (well, not self-sponsored but coercion by sibling) Rukuelle has set up her own account, Telpelote (which means Silver Flower. We make a lovely pair, we Flowers). She is writing a King Arthur fic, _War of Rome_. Which, despite the historical inaccuracies and the grammar mistakes, has the potential to be a good tale – especially if the great Moi betaed it – and I suggest you check it out and leave constructive criticism for my beloved one.

Callout time!

**Katatonia: **I wonder where you've gone……sorry that it didn't arrive soon, like I said.

**Manveri Mirkiel: **You will, I hope, not be disappointed with my version of Artemis, whether you think he's the bad guy or not. I was proud of that description. It's getting hard to come up with novel descriptions of Root's facial expressions nowadays. Lara is head of the League, so she has a right to do that. And if they read EftP, they'd probably guess Anna – except she isn't a vampire. Hint, hint. Love the Squish.

**Dalamar Nightson: **I'd think Mina's probably retired. One can't go on saving the world forever – it gets bothersome.

**Kismet: **You know, of course – I told you. But you mustn't say. And Xiao Long Nu is a sop. Melly makes a good Lara – thin and everything. We miss you dearly!

**Blu-white-red: **Bizarre? Oh dear.

**Sapphire Dragon: **I'm glad you understand about Rukuelle. She does tend to get a bit over, but then she's very, very protective about her stuff. Names most of all. Thanks for not getting flamish over it! And thanks for the compliments too.

None of the League belong to me. Our new character is from Jin Yong's Shediaoyingxiongzhuan – ha! Knew you wouldn't be able to guess, especially since very few people actually read Chinese _wuxiapian_. I hope the great master will forgive me for any discrepancies in his Chinese fiction that I make.

Have fun guessing the last member!

**3. Trouble in the Teahouse**

There were two members in the current League that explicitly hated snow.

The first was naturally Holly, who, like all fairies, hated the cold. At least the thermal suit lessened it slightly, if not enough. The second was naturally Anck-su-namun, mainly because she didn't own anything that covered up enough skin to keep warm with, so she had had to borrow Lara's clothes. They were around the same size, but the cold still wasn't entirely kept out.

They were at the moment hiking up a snow-covered mountain, through a blizzard, against a 90-kmph wind, in order to get to a tiny teahouse built halfway up the mountain. Naturally the situation disagreed with them.

"Is the girl worth all this?" yelled Anck-su-namun over the roaring wind.

Lara's reply came as a thin shout. "From what the file says, apparently yes, I believe."

Anck-su-namun grimaced. Even in this sort of circumstance the woman refused to abandon her aristocratic British manner.

They were all, even Lara, very glad when the teahouse finally came into sight. Ducking into the shelter and the warm smell of brewing tea, they were painfully aware of the inquisitive stares the other patrons threw at them. They certainly stood out – four women, three of whom were definitely not even Asian, cloaked in fur and hooded. Ignoring the prying glances, Lara moved to a table in a shadowed corner. The League arranged themselves around it – and under, in Holly's case (she was shielded, but precautions had to be taken).

Lara ordered tea.

While they waited, they listened to the conversations around them. Anck-su-namun and McGonagall were fitted with hidden translators, since they could not speak Chinese. There was an air of tension in the teahouse – conspirators waiting for the right moment to move. Lara could smell it – an ambush.

The tea came. The four women sipped calmly and waited with the rest.

Deathstrike began to crack her knuckles ominously. In a normal person, this would have been an annoying habit. In Lady Deathstrike, it was terrifyingly unnerving. The drinkers at the nearby tables glanced with trepidation at her whitened knuckles and impassive face, and were too afraid to comment.

"Stop it," said Lara eventually.

Deathstrike lifted her icy gaze and glared. Lara glared back commandingly. Deathstrike cracked her knuckles one last time and picked up her teacup instead without batting an eyelid.

The waiting became unbearable.

Ten minutes later, the tension in the air was almost at breaking point. McGonagall surveyed this with some irritation. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Well…" began Lara. "She _could_ have changed her mind at the last minute. There is no reason, of course, for such a deviation, since – "

Just then, the drapes at the door swung aside, and a girl entered the teahouse.

She was surprisingly young – no older than twenty – and brightly attired in a pretty combination of pink and yellow Chinese travelling clothes. Her hair bounced in two curled pigtails, tied with butterfly ribbons, at either side of her dainty head. Her eyes were lively and animated, set in a face of undeniable adorability. On a whole, she looked like a living Chinese doll. Only the long black sword by her side belied the sweet charm.

The tension instantly boiled over. Every eye in the teahouse was suddenly on the newcomer. Deathstrike's fist accidently crushed the teacup.

The mutant ignored the hot tea spreading across the table and wiped her hand on the edge without even wincing from the scalding touch. Her eyes moved from the girl to Lara. Like the other four, they were asking the unspoken question.

"Yes," answered Lara quietly. "It's her. Guo Xiang."

In the meantime, the girl had taken a seat. The sword lay on the table parallel to her arm, its hilt in readiness to be drawn. Around her, glances were shot swiftly at fellow conspirators, unspoken comments running rife. Some customers who were not involved sensed the imminent trouble, and hurriedly vacated their seats.

Guo Xiang took no notice of the signs. In a high, clear voice she addressed the waiter: "_Xiao'er, na lai nimen yi hu zuihao de Nu'erhong._"

The waiter bobbed his head, dabbing at the perspiration on his forehead with the towel draped around his neck. He ran off and returned with a jar of wine, which he virtually threw at the table, and scuttled off to disappear into the safety of the kitchen.

Guo Xiang, still ignoring the conspiratorial stares, poured herself a cup and drank thoughtfully.

A man stood up. He was wearing the garb of a Chinese scholar – inclusive of the painted fan in his hand. He was also rather drunk.

He swaggered over to Guo Xiang's table, flicked open the fan and addressed her. To the non-Chinese-speakers in the League, the translators picked up the conversation and translated it.

"So," the scholar was saying, "we meet again, Guo-guniang."

Guo Xiang raised mildly inquiring eyes from her wine cup. "Do I know you?" she asked sweetly.

"You know me," spat the scholar, "and you knew my brother. You killed him."

Guo Xiang reflected on that. "Oh, yes. That brute Da Er-wei. You must be his younger brother. Da Er-xiang, isn't it?"

"Indeed. Why did you kill him?"

"He was a disgrace to society," replied Guo Xiang petulantly. "He was murdering innocent wayside travellers."

Da Er-xiang snapped his fan shut irately under Guo Xiang's nose. "I don't care. I shall avenge him, or die in the attempt."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

The scholar sneered at her. Then he raised his fan suddenly, and brought it down in a vicious sweep.

Guo Xiang was ready for him. In a flash the sword was drawn and impaling the fan's creased paper folds. A quick twist, and the fan snapped apart. She leapt to her feet, her delicate-seeming fingers curling in the air and amassing invisible internal strength, before she shoved her palm against his chest. The unfortunate man flew straight into a wall and snapped.

Awed whispers ran around the room. "So it is true! The Jiuying Baiguzhao!"

Guo Xiang calmly withdrew her hand. "Well," she addressed the room at large with a charming smile, "are there any more of you revenge-thirsty dogs, or would you cowards prefer to slink off rather than face me?"

The insult had its effect. The customers who had remained leapt onto their feet with a roar and charged.

Guo Xiang smiled again, and actually giggled. Her sword flew into the air, and then she became a spinning whirlwind of blade. _Wuxia_ flew left and right as she swiftly dispatched them, bleeding as they were hurled past. She paused on top of a wine cabinet and curled her free hand into the deadly Baiguzhao again. Several of the attackers hesitated, and that was all she needed. They were promptly blasted out of the door and into the snow, unconscious.

"She's good," remarked Lara, impressed. "Should we give her a hand?"

"She seems to be dealing with it quite well," observed McGonagall as Guo Xiang spun a full round, her blade tip whirling and slashing at a ring of men.

"Seems a pity to miss out on the fun, though," sighed Anck-su-namun.

"Agreed," concluded Lara. "After all, what are we here for, if not this?"

Looks of accord were exchanged. Even as they drew weapons, they hesitated out of interest to see what the others would do.

Holly drew her Neutrino, flicking up the setting. One couldn't take chances with this lot. She rummaged in her pack and withdrew her cam foil. She would need it if she was to aim.

McGonagall extracted her wand from her sleeve. One hand closed around it, while the other adjusted her spectacles. Her mouth was set in an extremely thin grimace.

Lara whipped out the twin .45s from their thigh holsters. She cocked them in one swift motion and raised them to head height. Her fingers were itching to pull a trigger.

Anck-su-namun's twin sais came sliding out of their embossed sheaths, golden and deadly in their beauty. She twirled one of the daggers experimentally, tossed it up and caught it in a fluid movment. She was wearing her traditional sultry smirk.

Deathstrike, however, was the highlight of the five. Her eyes, cold and black, suddenly blazed in their icy glory. Her pallid hands were raised, her stare fixed on them. There was a crackling sound and her nails lengthened till she had ten long, thin and blood-red claws splayed in front of her moon-white face. It was a chilling sight.

All five exchanged simultaneous looks of agreement. And then as one, they launched themselves into the fray.

Anck-su-namun had lost her cloak, but the cold didn't matter now. Too much clothing always inhibited her movement anyway. Her sandals barely thudding as she ran nimbly across the room, she leapt into the air and gracefully somersaulted across the heads of a group of monks who were trying to get a cudgel in Guo Xiang's back. The monks stopped short and gaped, flabbergasted, at her. The concubine saw why they were gaping, and smirked. She threw a dagger up into the air and caught the blade between her long fingers.

"I thought you gentlemen were supposed to be celibate," she purred, and became a whirlwind of slashing sais. Most of the monks were too stunned to react instantly, and fell without resistance. The last one, a burly one with a beard, roared at the sight of his fallen brothers and raised his cudgel. Anck-su-namun eluded his blow easily, slid under his raised arm and cut his throat from behind. As the man fell, she wiped the bloody sai on the edge of a table and darted off in search of more prey.

Lara squeezed off another shot between the eyes of an attacking _wuxia_. Flinging her arms out sideways, she fired again and hit two opponents who had been rushing at her from either side. A worried thought flashed through the back of her mind – how many shots had she used so far? Revolvers weren't infinitely stocked.

The answer came when she turned to see an axeman bringing his weapon down upon her, raised the revolver, pressed the trigger and blinked when nothing came out.

_Oh dear_, thought Lara. _I might actually get _hit_ this time……_

She was contemplated how far a split would get her, when the axeman suddenly froze as a red beam of light hit him, and toppled sideways. Lara glanced in the direction of the beam and saw McGonagall, face grim, wand arm outstretched. The witch nodded curtly at her, and then she was lost in the fray again.

Lara sighed and replaced her revolvers. Inadvisable to reload in this sort of circumstance, and anyway they made things too easy. She clenched her fist and swung it at someone's ear, and then proceeded to fight tooth and nail to get to Guo Xiang.

McGonagall lost sight of Lara after she had rescued her. No matter. She Stupefied a couple more _wuxia_, and spun, robes flaring, to see Deathstrike plunge her claws to the knuckle into a man's back. That was one violent woman. She much preferred it her way, quick, painless, non-lethal……

There was a yelp directly behind her ear. She swivelled round, in time to see a warrior, who had his palms outstretched to blast her aside, crumple just behind her. There was no evidence of anything like bleeding, but she was sure that when she had glanced up, she had caught a fleeting glimpse of a gun retreating into invisibility, and a slight shimmer in the air, like a mirage. McGonagall allowed herself a small smile. Then she fired another spell, and was back to fighting.

Guo Xiang speared an attacker with a deft sword thrust – and at the same time sensed someone leap up behind her. Faster than a breath, she had pivoted on her left toe, pink skirts swirling around her, till she came face-to-face with a woman.

Guo Xiang was immediately struck by the fact that this woman was not Chinese. Far from it. The tan skin and the Western features – Guo Xiang had never seen a Western person before, having never left China. That was unusual. That did not matter. She was out to kill her, like all the rest. Guo Xiang raised her arm to strike, but the woman was as quick. Her opponent's arm came up to block her blow, and the impact shivered through both their bones – but neither yielded.

Then the foreigner spoke – in Chinese. Her accent was certainly atrocious, but Guo Xiang could make out the simple words without much difficulty.

"_Zheshi yi jian wuhui_," the woman was saying.

"I'm mistaken?" retorted Guo Xiang in the same language. She twisted away and punched a fellow who was trying to sneak up behind her back. "How am I mistaken?"

"I'm not trying to kill you," explained the woman, as she kicked another attacker in the shin. "I'm Lara Croft, and I want to help you."

"I'm quite fine on my own."

"I know. Actually we need your help."

"Oh. Why didn't you say so?"

They were interrupted when a figure sailed over the heads of the ring of attackers besieging them. Another woman, who seemed from her features to be one of the dark-skinned _A-la-bo_ people – her costume, or lack thereof, was truly shocking. Guo Xiang swallowed. Her mother would have a thing or two to say if she saw this girl. The newcomer turned to the Westerner and began to speak in another language.

"How's she doing?" asked Anck-su-namun casually as she sliced off someone's ear without batting an eyelid.

"Hard to convince," admitted Lara.

"Tell her we can do the negotiations outside."

Lara repeated that in Chinese to Guo Xiang.

"How do you know if I can trust you?"

Lara rolled her eyes. "That's what everyone says. And no matter how often I try to prove it to them, they always end up not trusting me anyway. You don't have to. Just get out of here with us."

"_Hao-a_. This fight is getting tiresome."

The three women turned to the door, which was slightly blocked up with various carcasses. Guo Xiang bent her knees slightly, and leapt. Her flight took her across half the room. Using a tea table as leverage, she changed direction at an angle and sailed out of the door, skirts fluttering in the breeze.

"Impressive _qinggong_," remarked Lara. She and Anck-su-namun went for the simpler approach of knocking people out of the way. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw McGonagall blasting a clear path with her wand, and Deathstrike slashing bodies aside with her claws. She couldn't see Holly, but she hoped that the elf had got the message.

They followed Guo Xiang's colourful figure quite a distance into the snow – although that was quite unnecessary, since the attackers in the teahouse showed no evidence of wanting to give chase.

Lara did a quick head count when they came to a halt. "Holly? Are you there?"

"Yes," came a disembodied and slightly disgruntled voice from a shimmer in the falling snow.

"So," began Guo Xiang, "what is this all about?"

Lara did not mince words. "Stopping evil and saving the world."

Guo Xiang blinked, and then she actually giggled very girlishly. Lara remembered, that despite the impressive _gongfu_ and the vicious _Baiguzhao_, she wasn't older than twenty.

"_Youqu_," she exclaimed. "Interesting!" Then she calmed down a bit. "Explain clearly, please."

Lara let Holly translate the mission objectives – she felt her own rocky Chinese had taken enough bashing today. Guo Xiang listened very attentively, her large liquid eyes wide and expressive.

"_Zhen youqu_," she repeated. "Can I come?"

Lara flicked a snowflake off her shoulder. "That's what we were asking."

"_Hao_." Guo Xiang sounded happy. "Shall we go, then?"

Lara agreed that they should. Anck-su-namun didn't look very warm, and she herself wasn't feeling very good in the snow, either.

"One last stop," she told the other five as they hiked down the mountain to the hidden shuttle port. "One last recruit, and then we'll be off on the mission."

"Who?" inquired McGonagall neutrally.

"You could call her Mina Harker's replacement. She might take some trouble to convince, but I'm sure we'll get her cooperation. She's a bit on the – wild – side."

"Oh, dear," murmured Anck-su-namun absent-mindedly.

"Mina Harker?" thought Guo Xiang out loud, trying to recall what Holly had translated for her. She pronounced it wrongly. "Isn't she the……_jiangshi_?"

"_Jiangshi?_" mused Lara, trying to place the phrase. "Oh, yes, _jiangshi_. Quite right. We're going vampire-hunting."

**End of Chapter**

_Next chapter coming……_**The Stake and the Sacrificial Post**

In which Deathstrike volunteers to be eaten, Anck-su-namun throws a lot of things around and the League gets set to go traipsing off into danger – again.


	4. The Stake and the Sacrificial Post

**The League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen**

Author's Note: And we're back to the scene of my beloved debut – the Carpathian midnight of haunted Transylvania, short though it may be. I have missed it here.

**Sapphire Dragon: **My computer tends to react weirdly to Chinese characters. It is not beneath translating them into unreadable squiggles. So I stick to hanyupinyi. I suppose it must be a high honour to be asked to write a fanfiction on someone's work. Thank you, then!

**Manveri Mirkiel: **Really, dear, you shouldn't go about capitalising words in reviews when the capitalised words are horrendously misspelt. It's alarming. I never did tell you about Mina, did I? I shall when I see you. If I remember.

**Reicheru: **Of course you never heard of Guo Xiang. Your literary tastes leave much to be desired. Think of all the things you're missing out on. You always ask how long fics are. Tut!

**Celeblas, Silver Leaf: **Yellow?

**Akwyn: **I admire your tenacity. It must be difficult to read fics where you have no idea who everyone is. I wish I had more readers like you. In most crossover fics like mine, one has no idea who everyone is.

I know my choice of Mina's 'replacement' was rather unexpected. I hope you do not think it unfounded. It's not Selene from 'Underworld' as some might have expected – I'm not entirely fond of her, and I have too many cold, heartless, angsty and black-leather-clad action chicks wandering around in here. I own not the vampire I have favoured – she belongs to the same person who owns Anck-su-namun. I think. Perhaps I was biased.

**4. The Stake and the Sacrificial Post**

Midnight.

They say the stroke of midnight is a sound to strike fear into mortal hearts, and they say so rightly. Midnight is a time of darkness, when the night is stifled in silence, and every tiny sound is a death-knell to the mind. Evil walks abroad at midnight.

It was midnight now.

It also happened to be a full moon.

Two double omens – of evil. The perfect ambush.

They were waiting.

* * *

The forest was dark. Eerily so. The strange noises were not helping things.

Overhead, the round moon circled the night, a faceless, cadaverous, glow in the sea of darkness. The stars seemed all to be out tonight – not a pinpoint of starlight to lighten the harsh glow of the moon. But still the pallor of the moon could not penetrate the thick canopy of the forest, which hid so many secrets. It was almost with relief that the moonlight fell and pooled in the wide clearing, set apart from the trees, throwing the shadows into faint relief.

The sacrificial post rose like a pointed finger in the middle of the clearing. It was an ancient, traditional post – the carved charms and prayers into the side could still be seen amidst the faded roughness of the wood. It was shaped like a cross – a stark, black cross that rose almost as high as the lower-hanging tree branches, and it had a hidden threat to it, akin to that that gallows produce. Human sacrifices were bound onto the cross, their wrists twisted behind their heads and tied with rope together behind the upper branch of the cross. They were bound there for the creatures of the night to feast upon.

The sacrificial victim who was currently bound to this particular post was female. Her face was shadowed by the fall of hair hanging over it. She was not very tall – her feet, when she was dangling, barely touched the ground. From a distance, it would appear that she was hanging limp. Only on close observation, could anyone have noticed the whitened knuckles behind the crosshead, the taut muscles in every limb, the tension of readiness and waiting.

Far off in the night, something stirred.

The victim heard it. Between the strands of hair, her eyes gleamed as they turned upwards.

Another rustle. A shadow crossed over the face of the moon.

The long fingernails dug into the wood of the post, gouging little chips out.

Wreathed in the shadows of the night, drawn by the inexorable pull of the sacrificial post, the creature folded its wings for a dive and came down like the sword of an avenging angel, a flash through the darkness, a falcon bearing down on its prey.

The victim raised her head. The ponytail fell away from her face, and she looked straight into the hideous countenance of the vampire that was swooping down on her, teeth bared, hair swirling, massive wings spread. Their eyes locked for a split second, and then the woman was gone.

The vampire swerved aside to avoid smashing into the post. She shrieked, banked up and rose above the treetops, casting around for her prey.

She spotted the woman crouched in the shadow of the post. The ropes on her hands were undone – how that had come about, she did not know. But she would not escape. The vampire attacked again.

Deathstrike saw her coming and flung herself aside at the last minute. This was the part of the plan where she would be in most danger – already she had had one close shave during her escape from the post. She hadn't expected the vampire to move so _fast_. She had just barely somersaulted backwards over the post in the nick of time and wrenched the loose bonds free.

She wasn't out of the forest yet, though. Both literally and metaphorically. She was still in the immediate vicinity of being eaten.

Where were the others?

Something gold whistled through the air. It sliced the vampire's pale shoulder and embedded itself in a tree trunk behind. Anck-su-namun leapt casually down from the branches above and came to stand beside Deathstrike, who had her nails out. Together they faced the vampire on the other side of the clearing, the sacrificial post in between.

The vampire had changed from the winged horror she had been in the air, into an exquisitely beautiful woman with a raven river of glimmering hair and features like an Italian marble goddess. Her clothes were definitely strange. The sleeves resembled long green draperies, and the collar was stiff and archaic. As to the rest – well, they weren't exactly like Anck-su-namun's, but they had the same idea about the flesh parade concept.

The vampire raised long pallid fingers and touched the bleeding gash on her shoulder, which healed in seconds. The glinting canines protruded when she laughed. When she spoke, her voice was a richly deep contralto. "You missed," she called mockingly.

"I never miss," retorted Anck-su-namun. "That was just a warning dagger. The next one…" she drew a shining silver rod from behind her back, and pressed something. It opened up into something infinitely more dangerous. "The next one will be a silver stake, and it will land in your heart."

The vampire took a step forward. Her opponent's hand automatically gripped the stake and raised it to shoulder height. "Try me," laughed the vampire. She transformed into winged form and took to the air once more.

Anck-su-namun threw. The stake whizzed through the air straight at the vampire, who shrieked an inhuman shriek and flung herself aside. "Now!" screamed Anck-su-namun.

McGonagall Apparated behind the vampire, wand at the ready. "_Stupefy!_"

The winged figure froze, and collapsed with a dull thud onto the ground in human form. She was fighting the spell, however – McGonagall knew that this sort of vampire was somehow strengthened against magic. It would not hold her long.

Lara emerged from the cover of a bush and drew the silver stake from the bark of the tree beside her. She leaned over and held it poised over the vampire's heart. The others were coming out gradually, waiting around the edge of this extraordinary tableau.

"You were staked once, Verona," said Lara evenly. "I don't think you'll survive it again."

The dark liquid eyes were haunted by memories and an unshakeable knowledge of the curse they held. Verona's breast heaved and fell as she drew ragged breath. For a moment, the long lashes veiled her enigmatic eyes – and then they were unveiled. Somehow, these new eyes had more of the human side of her in them.

Verona sighed. "It has been so long. Too long. No, you are right – I could not."

"Very good," agreed Lara. "Can we talk?"

Verona sat up and shook the Stunning Spell off like a duck shakes off water. The six women instantly tensed, ready to spring on her if necessary. But the vampire bride merely smoothed out her tattered green frills and folded her creamy arms. She looked statuesque.

"Very well," she said, and smiled. Again the ivory points of her fangs glinted in the moonlight.

Lara cut straight to the chase. "We'd like you to join us to investigate robot attacks and save the world."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Verona blinked slowly and deliberately. Secretly, Lara was glad that she blinked often. There was an unholy and demonic power in those eyes that none of them could have stood undiluted for long. "What have you to offer me?"

"Not very much," admitted Lara. "Safety? Amnesty?"

"I have been doing very well for myself over the last century, thank you."

"It surprises me you survived so long." Both of them glanced around, with visible surprise, at McGonagall. It was a rare incident to hear her offer comment. "Did not Lara mention that you were staked before? You were thought to be vanquished."

"I was not kind enough to finish up the process so easily." Verona rose slowly to her feet. The stake followed her ascent painstakingly. "Pardon, but I find this position unbecoming. But anyway, that first staking gave me a lot to think about, though. From the moment the stake entered my body, I was freed from the spell of my master Dracula. And I looked back on all the things I had done when I was with him, and I was horrified."

Anck-su-namun shifted on her feet. Glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, Holly thought she looked a trifle uncomfortable.

"I do not drink human blood very often now," went on Verona. "I cannot bring myself to. Today was an exception – I could not fight the sacrificial post. I do apologize. I think I shall join you."

Lara blinked. That was _sudden_.

"Yes," mused the once-Bride, "I think I shall. Call it a penance of sorts, if you wish. Should we not be going now?"

For a moment they were silent – and then Lara put the stake away. "Yes. Let's be going."

Everyone instantly rose and followed, Verona among them. The assimilation and acceptance of her into the group was immediate – no questions, no funny looks. She might be a vampire and extraordinary – but this was after all, the League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen.

The seven women set off through the darkened forest towards the direction of the shuttle port. At last, their League was complete. And at last, they could actually get _started_.

**End of Chapter**

_Next chapter coming…_**Sleepless on Surveillance**

In which the League get off at last on the _real_ mission, Anck-su-namun and Verona have some interesting conversations and Guo Xiang gets pins-and-needles.


	5. Sleepless on Surveillance

**The League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen**

Author's Note: Nothin' to say. Much.

**Manveri Mirkiel: **Of COURSE Verona is nice. I adore the woman. I did give you three chapters in the hols, so there.

**Asha Ice: **No Storm. I have enough female leads already. And you don't talk about longer chapters. For someone who used to type half a page for Bring Me to Life, you're a fine one to talk.

**Sean Malloy-1: **I'm not too sure about the guns – I'm not a weapons expert. Although you have a point – on second thought they don't look as if they have revolving chambers. I think I'll just call them guns. Guo Xiang should be from Book or Comic, but she has no fandom on Fanfiction Net, because she comes from a _Chinese_ book. I'm using Movie!Deathstrike, because I haven't read the comics very well.

**Reicheru: **You certainly don't read that much Chinese. Don't know what you're missing, do you?

**Sapphire Dragon: **You're a true flatterer. Thank you.

**Le Ami: **Of course. Don't misspell Anck-su-namun, though.

If anyone is interested, we have another fic in the works. (hears Manveri screaming in protest) No, _I'm_ not writing it. I figured it was time that Rukuelle did some of the work. With, of course, me watching over her like a hawk for punctuation mistakes. **Dracula's Angels** – though insofar we only have the trailer up.

**5. Sleepless on Surveillance**

"This is the plan," said Lara.

They were seated around an operation's table in the LEP shuttle's cabin. It wasn't the most comfortable of meeting grounds, due to the fact that it had been built for people less than half their size, but they had to make do.

Lara jabbed a pencil at the map of Chicago's central district. "This is the building in which Fowl has been spotted. It's forty floors high – that's a pittance compared to the average of Chicago's business towers – but we suspect that there's a lot more underground. It's a private industry – no one goes in without authorisation. That's not so strange. The strange thing is that no one ever seems to come out."

"Is there anyone inside in the first place?" asked McGonagall crisply.

"There are the guards at the entrances," replied Lara, "but apparently they sleep on the premises. As to the rest of the employees – no one knows."

She spread another sheet over the map. This one was a photo collage of the building, taken from different angles. Lara drew a circle around one of the windows in the photo of the right side of the building. "This is the office where Fowl is constantly spotted. None of the photos ever show there being anyone with him, though."

Holly heard all of this. She was in the front cockpit, driving the shuttle – and though she had not contributed much to the conversation she heard every word. That is not like Artemis, she thought. Artemis always has Butler with him. Oh, fine, so Butler's retired. But even an old Butler wouldn't abandon his charge for more than a minute. There's something wrong about those photos.

Lara pointed at a bird's-eye view photo of the building. "So – for the first step of the mission. Recon."

"Recon?" asked Guo Xiang. She was wearing a translator, but the word was alien to the machine.

"Re-con-nais-sance," enunciated Lara clearly, so the machine could catch it.

"Ah," nodded Guo Xiang. "_Shencha_."

"There are four sides to the building," went on Lara, "and seven of us. So we're splitting up into four groups – one pair per group, and the last group will be one person. There is preferably one person with avian abilities per group, so we can suitably cover all forty floors. Verona and Anck, you take the front side. Guo Xiang and Deathstrike, take left face. Holly and Professor McGonagall, take right face. I'll take the back."

Anck-su-namun's lips quirked in a half-smile. "All by yourself? Are you sure you can handle it?"

Lara looked the concubine straight in the eye. "I'm quite sure, thank you very much." Ignoring Anck-su-namun's roll of the eyes, she called over her shoulder towards the cockpit. "Got that, Holly?"

"Yes," Holly called back. She was the only one to hear the nuance in her own voice. She stared ahead at the viewscreen, fingers tightening on the controls. The right face of the building was where Artemis's window was located. No, she did not get it. She did not get it at all.

* * *

Night on Chicago was not like night on Transylvania. Chicago was equally busy at night as it was during the day – perhaps even busier. As the sky darkened, the lights came on – on every street, in every window. Cars rushed by like an endless stream of coloured flashes. Below them there was life everywhere, noise and colour and life.

Verona and Anck-su-namun were sitting on the large ventilators of the building opposite the one they were surveying. Anck-su-namun was looking rather strange with the LEP goggles strapped to her face. Verona wasn't wearing them. She didn't need them, not with her vampire's bestially-enhanced senses.

In truth, Anck-su-namun was terrified. Sitting with your legs dangling over the edge of a ventilator thirty-five storeys above ground is not one of the most relaxing positions you can adopt. Especially if the reason why you're up there is to keep your eyes fixed on the front entrance a long, long, _long_ way down.

Verona seemed perfectly at ease at this height. Well, she's got wings, thought Anck-su-namun bitterly. If she falls off _she_ won't smash on the pavement a million feet below.

So far, no one had entered or left the building yet. The guards, indistinct men in khaki uniforms, changed once every three hours, but they never left either. When she could force her eyes upwards, she had seen hazy shadows passing behind the frosted glass of the many windows, and none of them had been clear enough to define whether they were human or android. The situation seemed stale.

Anck-su-namun's eyes were watering from staring at the entrance, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to blink. She tried not to think how she would look spreadeagled on the pavement, her long black hair mingling with her life-blood, skull cracked. She had heard somewhere that the eyeballs were the first to go on impact: exploding in their sockets and spraying the cobblestones with aqueous jelly……

"Acrophobic?" inquired Verona softly.

Anck-su-namun bit her lip and concentrated on the khaki of the guards' uniform. "No."

"Oh, you are," came the cool reply. "I can tell."

Anck-su-namun finally managed to tear her eyes away from the terrifying drop to face her fellow League member. The Bride's face was impassive, her enigmatic eyes veiled momentarily by long dark lashes. Her waxen face was the only thing the concubine could see in the atmospheric darkness. The rest was swallowed by shadow.

"It's all very well for _you_," began Anck-su-namun hotly. "You're used to this. It's nothing to you. But I……"

"And what about you?"

There was an infinitely mocking tone to the vampire's voice. Anck-su-namun recognised it as the one she always used. She muttered a curt Egyptian invective and turned away, staring up at the night sky.

After some time Verona said quietly, "It happened to me the first time too."

Anck-su-namun shot a sidelong glance at her.

"I'd just been turned," went on Verona, "and I'd never flown before. I was terrified of heights – simply terrified. I swore I'd never fly like other vampires."

"What made you change your mind?" inquired Anck-su-namun, interested in spite of herself.

Verona smiled reminiscently. Her face softened all at once – from the world-weary face of a woman who has lived too long, to the fresh untouched face of a young maiden. "Him. Dracula. He taught me how to fly. He would bear me in his arms when we were out midnight hunting, until I lost my fear of heights. Until I was brave enough for him to let go."

They were both silent for a long time.

"I loved him," whispered Verona softly and fiercely. "I don't know why. I don't think_ he_ really loved me. But I loved him. I still love him…so much."

"I loved Imhotep," said Anck-su-namun abruptly.

Verona turned to look at her.

"I loved him as Anck-su-namun," the concubine said, "and I suppose Meela loved him too, in her own way. Though she didn't love him enough. In Ahm Shere she let him go. I didn't want to let him go. I've done horrible things, wicked things, as Anck-su-namun and as Meela, but I don't regret any of them. I did them all for him."

"I regret everything I did under Dracula's spell," said Verona. "The killings, blood hunts…everything. Except for the children," she added as an afterthought. "It was my idea to bring the children to life. At that time he still loved me enough to agree."

They were silent again, watching the shadowy figures pass behind the frosted windows but not really seeing them. Anck-su-namun was thinking of Imhotep, Verona of Dracula. The men they had loved and followed and lost. The men they still loved.

"If you don't like it here," suggested Verona after a while, "let's go up to the rooftop. You'll feel better there."

Anck-su-namun nodded wordlessly.

Verona slid off the ventilator and plunged downwards. Anck-su-namun watched her free-fall, saw her shut her eyes and savour the feel of the wind and the pull of gravity. Just before she came into sight of the multitude below, the Bride rolled over in mid-air and changed. Back up like a speeding comet she came, and she caught the Egyptian by the shoulders and pulled her up and over the top of the building. They collapsed on the rooftop together, panting from exertion and from the thrill of the flight.

Verona stood up and laughed, her deep rich laugh ringing in Anck-su-namun's ears. The concubine took the hand that was extended, and Verona pulled her to her feet. Anck-su-namun ran a hand through her sleek black hair, gave the Bride another of her sidelong glances, and smiled back.

* * *

"_Women hai yao deng duojiu?_" asked Guo Xiang petulantly.

Deathstrike gave no reply. They had been standing on the same street corner for the past two hours already.

"Could we sit down?" asked Guo Xiang in Chinese.

Her companion's face bore no expression. Amateur, thought Deathstrike. She's so young. So inexperienced. So annoying.

Guo Xiang gave a theatrical sigh and proceeded to imitate Deathstrike's standstill position.

Several people who passed along that street gave them funny looks: two Asian women, one in a black catsuit and the other in pink butterfly ribbons, standing on the sidewalk like statues, were not a common sight in Chicago.

Guo Xiang began to fidget after eleven minutes of standing stock still. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and then whispered: "My legs are prickling. They hurt."

"Pins-and-needles," said Deathstrike heartlessly. "What's there to complain about?"

Guo Xiang made a small complanative noise and began to rotate her foot to get rid of the pins-and-needles.

Opposite the street, a side door opened in the building, and a small group of guards came out. They huddled for a while in rapid discussion, shooting glances at the two women, and then three of them detached themselves from the group and began to walk with purpose towards them.

"Here comes the cavalry," murmured Guo Xiang. Deathstrike said nothing.

The guards continued striding. It came of being too obviously Oriental, perhaps.

Deathstrike turned her head ever so slightly and spoke into her collar. "Left face team. We have a spot of trouble."

"Hey, lady!" The first guard was approaching rapidly. "Whatcha doing outside here?"

"Standing," retorted Guo Xiang impertinently.

Deathstrike shot her a glare, and Guo Xiang shut up. It wasn't good to talk to people in languages they didn't understand – especially hostile people.

"What was that?" called the other guard. He definitely didn't understand Chinese.

They were now standing directly in front of the two League members. "None of your business," said Deathstrike clearly, and she turned to go.

One of the guards put out a hand to land heavily on the shoulder of the smaller of the two. Both women froze. "Stop right there!" ordered the guard menacingly.

"Oh good, movement at last," muttered Guo Xiang. She spun round and punched the man in the face.

"Trouble," said the headset in crisp tones.

"What?" asked Holly urgently.

"Deathstrike and Guo Xiang were attacked by a couple of guards. No, correct that – the entire lot attacked them after they beat up the first two."

* * *

Holly looked down. McGonagall was almost invisible in the shadows of the deserted alley, but her voice was grim in the darkness. "Do they need help?"

"I'm not too sure on that." Lara's voice sounded a tad amused. "Guo Xiang seems to be enjoying herself. But I think some reinforcements should go around. I can't go, because I'm the only one at my post."

She sounded disappointed. McGonagall glanced up at the Holly-shaped patch of smoky Chicago night. "Let's go, Holly."

"No," cut in Lara's voice over the air, "not both of you. This might be a distraction to draw you from your surveillance posts."

"Very well," muttered McGonagall. "Keep an eye out here, Holly." Drawing her wand, she Disapparated with a pop.

Alone now, Holly rose silently and swiftly on her mechanical wings, the slightest of shimmers. Perched on a ledge like a miniature gargoyle, she focused on the window opposite.

It was a like a small picture in the wall, a picture in monochrome blue. What she could see of the room's wall was painted blue. The desk was a pale, edging on colourless, blue, and the light bar on the ceiling gave the entire office an electric bluish hue. The only thing that seemed to be moving was the computer screen. It was switched on and alight with colour, although she couldn't see the details of the screen from this distance. It had been on for as long as she had been on Recon duty.

No one had touched it for that time period.

In the silence, there was suddenly the opening and shutting of a door, and the sound of quick footsteps thudding mechanically away down an unseen corridor. Another set of footsteps dragged slowly across the bare wooden boards of the office floor, stopped, and started again. And then the person passed into the window frame and sat down before the computer.

Holly's breath caught in her throat.

Artemis, sublimely unaware that he was being watched, began to type. It was like seeing that photo that Lara had shown her, but confronting a much worse reality. The bitterness and the weariness were real, too real, and she felt a pang running through her.

Silently, she rose and flitted across the distance to land on the windowsill of the building opposite. Artemis, his face illuminated by the unearthly glow of the computer screen, went on typing.

Holly pressed her face against the glass, but still she could not see what was on that computer screen. Just Artemis, typing, typing……

She had to get in there. She had to talk to him. She had to ask why.

Holly reached into her kit and removed the Omnitool. There was a lock at the side of the window, rusty from ages of long disuse. Holly inserted the Omnitool and waited for it to do its work.

Because of the rust, it took a couple more seconds than it should have. Holly caught hold of the opened lock so that the window would not automatically swing inwards and alert the occupants of the room.

For a moment she clung on, balanced precariously on a window ledge thirty storeys above ground level, on the verge of plunging into a danger on the basis of her intuition, and sublimely aware that she was defying the golden rule of Recon: Look, Don't Touch.

Artemis went on typing.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Holly pushed the window open a crack. Just a crack – just enough for her to slip through.

She paused, took a deep breath, and went in.

**End of Chapter**

_Next chapter coming…_**In the Lair of the Unknown**

In which Holly regrets that she never learnt sign language, gets well underway to entering a scrap metal crusher, and is convinced that something dark, dangerous and fishy is going on inside that building.


End file.
